Remember
by Luna Lovegood5
Summary: That night, a Time Lord and a human girl sat in their seperate rooms and cried. A post TGitF fic, looking at how the DoctorxRose relationship has changed.


**Remember **

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Doctor Who, the Doctor would get drunk a LOT more often.

* * *

That night, Rose Tyler sat on her bed, stared into the distance and wept.

She remembered the last time she'd touched him. A brief, fleeting hug which she'd waited five and a hour hours for, gazing desperately at the cold, metal wall of the spaceship where the portal had once been. She feared him dead, or lost forever, and while Mickey wailed that they were stuck on a cannibalistic spaceship for the rest of eternity, she thought of Sarah Jane and suddenly understood her pain in a way she never had before. To suspect him dead…to feel dead inside _herself_…to have been left, deserted for someone else…

'Come and find me, one day, if you need to. Come and find me.'

Rose remembered those words, and she feared that she would not even have that comfort. The Doctor had not left her behind, or left her for someone else – he had left her to _die_.

The penultimate time she had touched him flashed into her mind – innocently grabbing his arm as the Krillitane swooped down on them, holding on for a few seconds more than was strictly necessary once it had left. She had not had the courage to hold on any longer, or to take his arm again, and he had not ventured it forth since.

She feared that something between them had been missing ever since Sarah Jane had come back (or rather, that a distance had forced them apart), a missing something that he found (or distance that he bridged) not with her, but with Reinette.

Reinette, that was what he had called her. They were on first-name terms, and much more than that if the positioning of feet behind the fireplace had been anything to go by.

Oh yes, Rose knew what had happened. On her search of the ship, she had returned frequently to the fireplace, caught snippets of conversation and glimpses of disembodied legs. When two sets of legs had advanced swiftly towards the fireplace, one set walking backwards, she understood perfectly, and she continued searching the ship, numb and cold inside.

She remembered how, when asked what he'd been doing, he pretended it hadn't happened, and she wondered why. They used to be so honest with each other, but she feared that the new distance stretching endlessly between them had put a stop to that. Did he think it would hurt her to know he'd kissed someone else? He was right. Did he think she'd be jealous? He was right. Did he think it was none of her business? He was probably right about that, too.

This, however, was a different type of jealousy to that which had consumed her when she learnt about Sarah Jane. That had opened her eyes to the fact that the Doctor had and would…_dance_ with many others than her. Jealousy was not so fierce in the absence of shock and in the presence of hindsight. Besides, her and Sarah Jane had been equals – both 21st century humans, both companions to the Doctor. But how could a shop girl ever compare to the unofficial Queen of France? Reinette was beautiful, intelligent, educated, eloquent, talented, rich – everything Rose could never be. How could she be jealous of someone like that? She felt she had no right to be.

She saw the look on the Doctor's face as he looked at her through the portal and she knew – she knew. She knew that never again would she be graced with such a look, that never again would it be for her, just as she knew, as he said the portal would break and he'd be stuck in 1727 France with no way to get back, he'd go anyway. Just to save Reinette.

The thought that he may once have done the same for her offered her no consolation, knowing as she did that such times had passed.

As such, she was resigned to the fact that he loved someone else – in a way he had perhaps never loved her. And what could she do about it but weep? Jealousy gnawed at her with a blunt fang; it was abject misery that pierced the skin.

She remembered visiting Reinette. She approached slowly, precious as the minutes were, wanting to get an impression of this woman, to glean an idea of why the Doctor loved her so and to see – though she despised herself for it – if she bore any resemblance to herself. She got as far as hair colour and was forced to stop. Reinette was regal, beautiful, imposing, dressed in a gown as big as Rose's flat and probably as expensive as it, too. And there was she, in jeans and a t-shirt, hair short and in messy waves, only blonde through the help of peroxide.

So, she approached Reinette, tears in her ears, spoke to her, warned her, smothered jealousy in pity in an effort to hate herself less. She could not resent Reinette – it was not her fault that the Doctor had fallen in love with her, and no more could she resent the Doctor. He had never made her any promises, never intended to fall in love with Reinette. Thus, the blame landed on herself, and she couldn't even pity herself in her hatred.

Reinette entered the Doctor's world and immediately Rose knew, more so than she ever had before, that she could not compete with this. Madame du Pompadour or Rose Tyler? It was an easy choice. 'We both know, don't we Rose, that the Doctor is worth the monsters.' She wept silently at the truth of this statement and cursed herself for being so arrogant and blind.

'Pick a star. Any star.' How could such simple words chill her so? She had stopped crying, now – her grief was beyond that, and she was so, so resigned. How the Doctor had changed her! Rose Tyler had given up.

She knew this was the end. She wished she had not believed him when he said he'd never leave her behind, but she could not blame him. He had not been expecting to meet a brilliant French replacement so soon.

'No. Not you.' She remembered his words and feared they would stay with her forever. She would not live her life like Sarah Jane – she would not mourn him, or wait for him to return for her. He had shown her fragments of love, life and adventure, and fragments would have to do. Make do and move on – it was what both of them did best.

He came back with tears but without Reinette, and Rose feared her dead – she knew Reinette would not have passed up a chance to finally see the stars up close, to travel with her 'angel'. But was she relieved? No. 'Be careful what you wish for', he had told her once. She had learnt from Sarah Jane, she had learnt from her own arrogance. Relief was the last thing drowning her right now.

'Me? I'm always alright.' It was then that she realised he was _never _alright and that she had never made him so – nor ever would she. Reinette had seen and understood in mere minutes, but it had taken her over a year. Wanting so desperately to comfort him but knowing – and worse, vaguely, resignedly accepting – that she had no place by his side anymore was the most painful of all.

She didn't want to leave, but half the magic had gone. Just as the Doctor's love for her had died, been overshadowed by his feelings for Sarah Jane and Reinette, so had the wonder and splendour of each new alien landscape, now overshadowed by an overwhelming feeling of loss and loneliness.

She felt she had no right to cry. Suspecting, as she did, that Reinette had refused him or died, she felt he had suffered enough without her adding to it. How could she complain that he had been off dancing and showing the French bananas while she was being prepped for 'surgery' by clockwork monsters? How could she cry and storm at him for leaving her and Mickey behind on a 51st century spaceship with no way to get home? How could she berate him for leaving her in favour of a French queen? She could not. She forgave him, every single time and for every single thing and she always, always would – but it would never stop the pain. That would never stop until she grew old and mad – withered and died – forgot it all, forgot how they used to be.

'I could save the world but lose you.'  
'I'm so glad I met you.'  
'You can spend the rest of your life with me…'  
'Just tell me you're sorry.'  
'Do that for me, Rose. Have a fantastic life.'  
'She's my plus one, that alright?'  
'Someone that you –'  
'Run!'

She remembered it all, and she wept.

* * *

That night, the Doctor sat in the control room of the TARDIS, staring into the distance and trying not to cry.

He knew she was crying. He thought he knew why. What he didn't understand was why she wasn't angry with him. He'd left her to die twice within the space of a day, and she hadn't shown the slightest bit of anger since he had stepped out of that fireplace for the final time. None. Just – 'are you alright?'

What was he _supposed _to say to that?

The letter in his pocket rustled as he moved slightly and a new wave of emotion swept over him – more guilt, more sadness, more regret than he had ever felt before.

Reinette had known him her whole life – he had known her for less than a day. Was it enough? Enough to fall in love with her, yes. Enough to get to know her, yes. Enough to be satisfied that he had done her justice? No. Not by a million miles.

The long road…he almost laughed. He did not live the long road any less than Reinette did. He had been travelling the long road for 900 years and was still no closer to the end. Had she seen that? She had definitely seen something. She understood him in a way no-one else ever had – although perhaps he couldn't blame them for that; no-one else had ever read his mind.

She had waited for him for five years but he did not come back. Had she picked out a star? Had she trusted that he would come back until the very last moment, or had she lost faith in him? He would never know.

Rose had waited for five hours and he _did _come back. Rose was a shop girl. Rose had no A-Levels. How could she ever compare? But she did, and he hated himself for letting her. How was it fair that he could love her _and_ Reinette?

_Love. _He'd never thought about it like that before, not really. Not until the conversation they'd had outside the café; 'someone that you – '

He had not admitted to himself that he loved her before that moment, let alone almost admitted it to her. She was _Rose – _he cared for her, protected her, showed the universe, _needed _her, died for her. Why had he not seen it?

He heard her, in the room nextdoor, shuffling about a little, occasionally sniffing. He wanted to go to her, but felt he had no right. There was a gulf impossible between them, and one that contained not only insurmountable space but Mickey and Reinette, too. Would it be unfair to Reinette to admit he loved Rose? Would it be unfair to Rose to deny it?

Rose knew how he felt about Reinette. He had been completely swept up in her from the beginning. She was charming, beautiful and, most importantly, understanding. He wondered if that was why he had kissed her back while, when Rose had kissed him, he had simply kept his hands behind his back and raised his eyebrows.

Reinette was right. He was alone, so very alone, and all of a sudden he was presented with an all-kissing, all-knowing beautiful woman. She had bewitched him from the very first second…but he had to forget her. He couldn't dwell on the past, he could not go back, he could not remember every bad thing that had ever happened. If he did, he would probably explode. All the mattered was the here and now, and the here and now was crying in her room nextdoor…but because of the past, he could do nothing about it. He cursed the double standard.

Rose didn't understand, and she never could. He would never explain to her what Reinette had seen, why he was lonely or why she couldn't make it better. The truth was, Rose was so young, so innocent…he could not bring himself to tell her he had killed a whole race of people; his _own _race. She tried to comfort him, believed it worked, but it never could while she was ignorant. That, not the jewels or the riches or the education, was the true difference between her and Reinette.

Having reached no kind of conclusion and unsatisfied with his thoughts, the Doctor re-read his letter, but it only served to make him feel more guilty. How _could _he have let her wait for five years, hoping and hoping? How _could _he have left Rose to die not once but _twice_? Rose had very nearly died for him not so long ago…this was poor repayment. First Sarah Jane, now Reinette…he did not blame her for crying. He would not blame her for leaving, though he didn't think she would. She got such a thrill from adventure. Her eyes lit up at each new planet, she bounced around excitedly like a child.

'Oh, I'll never get used to this…new sky above my head, new ground beneath my feet…'

He didn't think he'd ever be able to show her new places in the same way. They had lost something, some sort of connection he had barely been aware of before it had disappeared, and at the same time he had lost Reinette, lost Sarah Jane.

All he could do was forget it and move on, because that was what he did best. Never look back, never _go _back, no second chances.

'We'll go down together, yeah?'  
'Good job I'm not going anywhere, then.'  
'Can't get rid of me.'  
'It's not your fault, remember that. And you know what? I wouldn't have missed it for the world.'  
'I thought you and me were –'  
'I want you safe…my Doctor.'

-

'Godspeed, my love.'  
'Such a lonely little boy!'  
'There comes a time in every lonely little boy's life when he must be taught how to dance.'  
'My lonely angel.'  
'The Doctor is worth the monsters.'

-

'You _were_ my life.'  
'There was someone, once…'  
'He was a tough act to follow.'  
'I thought you died!'  
'Pain and loss define us as much as happiness…'

But he remembered it all, and, finally, he cried.

* * *

That night, a 900 year old Time Lord and a 20 year old human girl sat in their separate rooms and cried.

Gone was the time when they could comfort each other; when they felt like they had that right. And I fear it is lost forever. It was over before it had begun.


End file.
